Swallow My Pride
by wrestlefan4
Summary: John Cena is forced to swallow his pride, and Wade Barrett's. Slash. OST.


Swallow My Pride

He swayed down the hallway in a way that oozed superiority. His mouth was turned down into a frown of seriousness, and his hard eyes bore into anyone else who dared to be nearby. With one look from him his co-workers stood aside and allowed him to pass, knowing it was better than to get in his way. He might not give them a literal thrashing, but even a tongue thrashing from Wade Barrett was something none of them wanted to be on the receiving end of. With wary eyes they turned to watch his back as his regal form moved onwards down the hallway. They knew who he was after, it was always the same.

Somehow the dark Englishman had been able to bring down their proudest hero, and tie his hands. It was something no one in the locker rooms had thought was possible, either in or out of the ring, kayfabe, or real. But Wade had done it, and somehow a gray cloud of oppression had seemed to settle over everyone on the brand as a result. Even those who had no liking of John Cena, had to admit that they'd rather have him back to the way he was, than what Wade had torn him down into. Wade had dripped water onto the fire that lived within John Cena, until it was nearly put out into nothing but a lump of smoldering ashes, and it was an awful thing to see.

Wade stopped at the door that was John's private dressing room. He sneered at the name there, mentally replacing it with his own which would rightfully be there some day very soon. Wade figured that a man of his talents deserved better treatment, and ought not to be herded into the main locker room with such mediocrity. He loathed it, and he often refused to change there, and would simply force himself into John's locker room and change there, and usually get his needs cared for before tapings began. He was Wade Barrett, and that slime Vince McMahon couldn't even bother to get him a proper dressing room. He curled his nose, and twisted the knob on John's door.

His face twisted into and expression of annoyance at finding it locked. John knew better. John knew fucking better than to lock this door. Wade hammered his fist onto the door, and shouted.

"John? John! Open the bloody door, love."

He waited for a reply, for a minute 'click' as the lock was turned but there was nothing. How dare John keep him waiting like this? His hands tightened into fists and his anger bubbled beneath the surface. He pounded the door again, and called for John louder this time.

"Cena! Don't you _dare_ try an' play games with me! Open the fucking door!"

When he was left once more without reply, he ground his teeth together, seething. He felt eyes upon him, and swung around frightening the huddle of nosey co-workers who had gathered to watch the rejection unfold.

"Sod off! What are you lot of slimy buggers staring at! Go on!" His accented voice boomed out and the group dispersed, leaving Wade still outside John's door and now more infuriated than ever. Just as he was thinking of putting a big foot through the door and just smashing it down, the click he'd been waiting for sounded, the knob turned, and John opened the door. He was standing there wearing just his trademark jean shorts and tennis shoes, he had yet to put a shirt on and Wade's eyes traveled over the expanse over toned, tanned muscles, and the wide chest with pert pecs and pebble-hard nipples. Then came John's broad shoulders, the strong column of his neck, and then his handsome face which was set now in a hard look that Wade could place only as defiance. Wade pushed his way in, determined to wipe that look off of John's face. He slammed the door closed behind him and locked it.

"What was the meaning of that?" He spat, but before John could even answer, a large palm connected with his dimpled cheek, the slap ringing out in the small room. Wade's handprint blossomed against the soft skin in a red tattoo. "I don't _care_ what you thought you were trying to do, John. The fact is…" Wade slammed Cena up against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head, his eyes burning. He lowered his voice to a hiss. "The fact is, John, it won't happen again."

Their eyes connected, and in John's blue ones Wade could see that fire trying to flicker back to life. He had to stomp it once more, stomp it out until it was just a thin tendril of smoke rising from ashes. He growled at the man between himself and the wall, feeling John's muscles tense as though they were readying to fight back against the Englishman.

"Don't be stupid, pet." Wade warned, although John already had been stupid enough with his little door trick. "On your knees." He demanded, his voice now flat and emotionless.

"What if I'm tired of bein' on my knees for you?" John shot back, disobeying and not making any move to kneel down.

"I didn't ask!" Wade roared, and one of his hands uncurled its hold on John's wrist and came down again, open palm, against his cheek. John's teeth clacked together with the force of the blow, his head bounced with a thud against the wall, sending black spots popping before his eyes. It was only a slap, but Wade's hands felt like baseball bats when they connected with John's flesh. He wasn't afraid of taking more, he was no pussy, but he had to go out in front of his fans and cameras tonight and doing so with bruises blackening his face wasn't something he was really looking forward to, so he reluctantly knelt, trying to keep the feeling of defeat from once again overwhelming him. Wade smirked down at him, and patted his cheek now, his fingers ghosting over the hot outlines of his violence.

"That's acceptable, but I'd hardly call you a good boy yet." He gripped John's chin, forcing his head up. John had been looking down at the floor, not wanting to really make eye contact with the bulge that was at his eye level. Wade had other ideas, however, and there it was. John closed his eyes for a moment, thinking it might just be best to get it all over with. He waited for Wade's next instruction.

Wade unbuckled his belt and pants, and took a couple of steps forward forcing his cock into John's face. John cinched his eyes closed and turned his face, but there was really nowhere to go. The cheek that still stung from Wade's slaps pressed up against the cool wall, giving him some relief, but Wade's prick was against his other cheek, hard and hot, and he didn't want it touching him at all.

"Behave yourself, John, and open up." Wade grabbed John's face again, this time letting his short nails bite into the tender flesh. He turned John's head with a painful snap and then dug his thumbs into the joints of John's jaw until Cena gave into the pain of it and opened his mouth. He closed his eyes and tried not to gag as Wade's cock brushed his lips and then slid over them, past his teeth, against his tongue, filling his mouth and forcing itself down his throat as he coughed and tried to adjust to the invasion that felt suffocating. His throat was automatically trying to reject it, gagging against the hard flesh, but Wade just forced himself deeper not heading the spasms of John's throat. John thought he would suffocate, or throw up, or both. Hot tears from the unstoppable gagging and the force of it spilled down his face. Wade's hand cupped the back of his head.

"John, do stop carrying on so."

The Champ settled down as much as he could, but even that didn't really matter. Wade started up a brutal pace, fucking his mouth and throat as if he had the need to jackhammer through concrete with his hard-on. John's hands met Wade's hips and shoved but Wade's feet were planted and John could only shove him so far. Wade's cock sliding out of his throat gave him the chance to take in a deep breath, his mouth still wrapped around part of the large organ, but before he could do more Wade grabbed John's wrists and pinned them once more against the wall, and slammed himself back down the abused throat. Wade's growls of pleasure and profanity filled the privately locked room and John was mouth fucked until Wade's release filled his throat, and mouth, nearly choking him. Wade pulled out, and wrapped his hand around John's throat.

"Swallow it." He demanded, his voice a snarl, his eyes glowing with the pleasure he'd just robbed away from the man beneath his hand. Struggling, John finally swallowed, and slumped back against the wall with bruised and battered lips, a strand of pearly juice hanging from his chin. Wade curled his nose in disdain. "You disgust me." He grimaced, and fixed his pants as he shook his head, though he wasn't a bit sorry for any of it. With a smug smile affixed to his face Wade strode out of the locker room, more satisfied than when he'd strode in.

The moment Wade left, John got to his feet and then nearly tripped over them in his sprint to the toilet. He fell to his knees with a jarring force and Wade's juices along with his own lunch hurled up his raw throat and into the porcelain bowl he was clutching. His throat already felt as if it was torn to shreds, but the acid that twisted itself with the contents of his stomach made it burn as if he'd swallowed fire. He laid against the cool circle of the toilet bowl, taking tiny breaths, because even that was painful enough to make his eyes leak tears from the corners. He hated being like this, and with a shaking hand he reached for the toilet paper and pulled some off to clean his face and mouth with. There was no way he'd be able to speak tonight, not after that. Just to test it out, he forced some sounds from his throat but they were twisted whispers that only he could understand. They felt like shards of glass biting into him, but he said them once more anyway.

I hate you.


End file.
